


pain goes on and on

by KayNight



Series: This World of Ours [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7023085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayNight/pseuds/KayNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about any of this,” Wayne stated very matter-of-factly, waving a hand around at the house around them, “You won’t have to worry about it ever again.”  </p><p>She narrowed her eyes at him, “And why would that be?” </p><p>Bruce Wayne gave a deep sigh, as if everything was suddenly all too much for him, and his shoulder’s bunched up and he looked down at the fists clasped in his lap.  </p><p>Martha was hit with a wave of nostalgia, looking at this man too big for her little kitchen trying to make himself smaller. He looked back up at her, his brow set and voice firm, “It’s the least I can do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	pain goes on and on

**Author's Note:**

> There's a grief that can't be spoken  
> There's a pain goes on and on  
> Empty chairs at empty tables
> 
> written because I absolutely treasure the relationship between Bruce and Martha Kent, and there's no way that they could have this conversation without it going this way

“Mrs. Kent?” 

Martha didn’t recognize the man standing on her door step, but boy did she recognize the expression on his face. The number of times she’d seen that look on her son’s face was more than she could count – that stubborn brow, mouth set in a firm line, the look of a man who had a thought rattling around in his head and was determined to see it through. 

“My name is Bruce Wayne.”

Martha let out a soft sigh and gestured the man in, what ever he wanted, she could tell he wouldn’t leave until he said his piece. She led him through the house, past the remnants of the wake around her, food cold and the house even colder. It had never felt empty before, not like this.

Martha swallowed down the sorrow rising in her throat, and motioned at Bruce to take a seat at the kitchen table. 

“Coffee?” She asked, moving to pour herself what felt like her tenth cup of the day.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Please, just call me Martha. Everyone does.”

And for the first time since she saw this man lingering at the edges of the cemetery, he looked lost, almost wistful as he nodded at her. 

She poured the coffee, now lukewarm and thick, into a mug – a Kansas mug, Clark’s favorite. Clark. Martha took long drink, and focused her attention on the man before her, who had regained some of his earlier resolve and was looking at her intently. Something about him was familiar, and she couldn’t place it. The way he held himself… 

“Martha… I knew your son. Not for very long, or very well, but he’s not someone you forget easily.”

“What did he do? Harass you for an interview? My Clark is,” Martha breathed in deeply, and took a moment to steady herself, “…was a very stubborn man.” 

She smiled then, into her coffee, and then at the strange man sitting at her kitchen table in her empty, cold house, “Just like his father.” 

Wayne blinked at that, and to her surprise, gave a low chuckle and ran one of his huge hands through his hair, “Something like that.” 

“I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about any of this,” Wayne stated very matter-of-factly, waving a hand around at the house around them, “You won’t have to worry about it ever again.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “And why would that be?” 

Bruce Wayne gave a deep sigh, as if everything was suddenly all too much for him, and his shoulder’s bunched up and he looked down at the fists clasped in his lap. 

Martha was hit with a wave of nostalgia, looking at this man too big for her little kitchen trying to make himself smaller. He looked back up at her, his brow set and voice firm, “It’s the least I can do.” 

Her gaze softened at that, at this man who reminded her so much of her son that it made her heart ache, “Mr. Wayne, you’ve done quite enough already. The fact that I’m standing here talking to you is proof enough alone of that.”

His eyes widened at that, and she smiled at his surprise, “It’s not very hard to put two and two together, Mr. Wayne. Clark may have gotten his stubbornness from Johnathan, but he got his wits from me.”

Wayne actually chuckled at that, a small grin settling on his lips and easing the furrow of his brow, “That’s clear to me now, and please, call me Bruce.”

A silence fell upon the pair, Martha sipping quietly at her coffee and gazing out the kitchen window at the rolling fields and the sun low on the horizon. She could tell that there was more he had to say, but she would let him sort it out on his own terms. Lord knows boys had enough trouble sorting through their feelings on their own without someone forcing it out of them. 

She only had a few minutes to wait though, and the sound of his voice jolted her out of her thoughts of long summers and a boy still small enough to carry on her hip. 

“Martha… That’s not the only reason why I want to help you.”

She kept her gaze fixated out the window, on the sway of the wheat in the wind and the reddening gold of the setting sun. 

“I lost my son… several years ago.” 

She turned around at that, eyes wide and met his gaze head on. She pursued her lips, and finally moved to sit at the table, setting her mug down on its well worn surface. The drag of the chair across the tile floor was the only sound in the house. Once she was settled, she took one last swig of her coffee and set her fingers lightly on the table. 

“What was his name?”

“Jason. His name was Jason.”


End file.
